


Long Journey Home 8

by xtricks



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-29
Updated: 2005-01-29
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks
Summary: Wanting has consequences.





	Long Journey Home 8

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Long Journey Home 8

## Long Journey Home 8

  
by XTricks  


Disclaimer: AA ownes 'em. I don't make money off this.

Story Notes: Set after the series ends.

* * *

### Long Journey Home 8

Fraser had freaked himself out. Ray, he wasn't so freaked, even if it was kinda   
_different_ to have Fraser getting snot all over his shirt instead of the other   
way around. He just rubbed his hand over Fraser's not very clean hair and let   
him mumble whatever he had to say but didn't want anyone to hear, into his   
neck. Baby steps, Ray figured. They'd take this whole wanting thing in baby   
steps. Maybe someday--Ray's fingers curled against Fraser's scalp--Fraser's want   
would bump into Ray's want, after a few billion baby steps.

Fraser was hurting himself he was crying so hard and it wasn't pretty; raw and   
rough and out of practice. Ray wondered how long these tears had been waiting   
and wanted to lick them right off his face, right out of his heart. Fraser cried   
himself to sleep like a little kid and he looked like one too, red nosed and limp   
against the pillows. Fraser was down for the count but Ray was buzzing, he was   
a man on a mission. Fraser wanted and Fraser was gonna get. Ray just had to   
figure out how.

"Maggie," Ray plunked down on the chair next to hers, in the hallway outside   
Fraser's room. Maggie was tired, he could see that. They were all tired and she   
was still pissed at him, and too Mountie polie to say so. Ray twitched and picked   
at the threads on his shirt, he wasn't going to get anywhere with her and   
Frobisher ticked at him. "So, uh, what's the deal gonna be?"

"What do you mean?" she said.

"They ain't gonna keep him here forever right?" Even with state health care, Ray   
figured the hospital was gonna give Fraser the boot as soon as they could.   
Which would be a good thing 'cause Ray figured Fraser would be a hell of a lot   
happier--and get back on his feet quicker--if he was outta here and back to   
drinking bark tea and eating oatmeal. "Now that he's got some brains working   
again? What's gonna happen? Is he--is he still a Mountie?"

Maggie picked over her answers carefully, eyes wary. "Benton is on disability   
pending a doctor's release for duty and a fitness hearing. He is still and officer of   
the RCMP."

"Okay, great," Ray didn't figure they'd dump Fraser on his ass in the snow but   
he had to wonder, knowing all those years of exile in Chicago, if some nitpicker   
wouldn't try and put Fraser out to pasture. Maggie's eyes were still narrow, still   
watching him. She wanted an answer, Ray realized, wanted to know if he was   
here for the long haul or just to play a guest role and leave her to pick up the   
pieces again. "He's gonna have rehab and stuff, right? That'll take awhile."

"Most likely."

"Okay, so--I'll call my boss and get me some leave."

Maggie's brow rose, skeptical. "How long?"

Ray met her eyes. "As long as it takes, Maggie. As long as it takes."

Welsh wasn't any too pleased, even if it was Fraser. Ray didn't have much leave   
left, not after the quest, finally he just told Welsh to send up his retirement info   
and the number of his union rep 'cause he wasn't coming back. It was easier that   
way, one less thing Ray had to think of. He'd figure something out--later. Call   
his folks--later. All of that was later. Him and Fraser was now, now, now.

He had to drop a chunk of change to get back up to Alert; the planes got smaller   
and the food worse until even putaine sounded good. Ray hadn't much wanted   
to go but he and Fraser had talked it out--instead of him just deciding for Fraser   
like everyone else thought was such a great idea. He had to be the one to sit   
down and tell Fraser no one knew what had happened to Dief. No one had seen   
him since Fraser'd been hurt.

"Thank you," Fraser had said, closing his eyes.

"Jeeze, Frase," Ray's voice had cracked. He was hurting at the thought of Dief   
gone and couldn't imagine what Fraser was feeling. Now the guy was thanking   
him? "For what? Telling you that Dief is MIA?"

"For telling me at all," Fraser said softly. When he opened his eyes again, they   
were dark and Ray hated the shadows in them; helplessness and grief. "I'm not   
sodamaged that I couldn't guess why no one mentioned him to me."

A little snippy there. Fraser's brain might be full of holes but he still got pissy   
when things didn't go his way and hell if Ray wasn't glad to hear it.

"I guess no one wanted you to get upset," Ray muttered and Fraser sighed   
sharply through his nose.

"I'm damaged, Ray--

"--not stupid. Yeah, I got that. I do get that one. Sorry, Frase. So, what do you   
wanna do?"

"Well," All the starch got knocked out of Fraser and he rubbed his eyebrow,   
hiding his face for a moment. All Ray could see was the polite mask and a sort of   
hopeless look in his eyes, moving like deep water before it disappeared and there   
was nothing left but Mr. Polite. "Well, then. Diefenbaker is a wolf--a half wolf--  
no doubt he's returned to the wild. It is his natural home, as you know Ray--"

Ray dropped his head down, propping his thumbs against his eyes and let   
Fraser's words roll over his back. He could hear Fraser building up a wall, word   
by word, missing Dief on one side and Fraser on the other. _Wanting_ on   
one side, Fraser--no, Corporal Fraser, RCMP--on the other. Not good, not good,   
and Ray's knee started jigging and he wanted coffee and he wanted Fraser to   
shut up.

"--he's quite capable and a wild animal. Even if he were injured, Diefenbaker   
would manage as all wild creatures do."

Sucked. Sucked. Sucked. This sucked. Ray squinted angrily at his boots,   
scuffing his toe against the white linoleum and leaving grit behind. "Do ya really   
think Dief would'a run off on ya?"

"No," Fraser whispered. "Not really. I imagine--that--"

"Maybe so," Ray snapped before Fraser could finish _that_ sentence.   
Words out loud would make it too real. "That what you want, huh, Frase?"   
Swallowed the anger, it wasn't Fraser's fault that Dief was probably dead.   
Sucked so bad, the thing Frase wanted--the thing Frase told him he wanted, Ray   
couldn't get him. Right out of the gate and he'd already screwed up, hit Fraser   
upside the head with why it wasn't so good to want things, sometimes. "We can   
do that, just go on 'cause you're probably right, Dief probably didn't--" Ray   
couldn't even say it and how stupid was that? But he couldnt say it, didn't   
_want_ to give up on the dumb wolf. Ray looked over at Fraser, seeing   
him not wanting too either, the naked look in his eyes made Ray want to kick   
somebody in the head. Made him angry at the wolf for a moment, for leaving   
Fraser like that, then angry with himself for thinking like that.

"What else can I do?" Fraser's eyes were raw, bright, and it felt like Ray's heart   
was being yanked out of his chest. Fraser couldn't hold his gaze he looked down   
at his hand like the bandages were real interesting. Ray stared at those blunt   
fingers resting on the white sheet inches from his own. Fraser's hands were   
always so together, big and strong and competent, but now the tips of the two   
fingers were missing. Fraser was human--breakable. Fraser had frozen--parts of   
Fraser had _frozen_ to death, had died and it was a whole new rush of   
horror that made Ray want to bolt for the men's' room and toss his lunch again.   
Fraser had come a few finger widths away from dying out there, alone. His hand   
looked stranded out there, like the white hospital sheet was some glacier far out   
to sea. Ray swam his hand across the sheets, touching the backs of Fraser's   
fingers, palm warming the place where his pinkie and ring fingers weren't   
anymore. The sheets were icy cold and Ray shuddered.

"Is gonna hurt less to give up on him now?" Ray asked those fingers and felt   
Fraser flinch under his hand. "Or, maybe you think you can hang onto some   
hope, huh?"

"It doesn't seem very reasonable," Fraser said and Ray flung himself back in his   
chair, hands flying up to scratch through his hair--needed a cut--and scowled at   
Fraser.

"Reasonable? What the fuck does that mean, reasonable?" Ray was simmering   
in is chair, sweating in the face of Fraser's cold shutting down. When had   
reasonable been in their dictionary? When Fraser was jumping off buildings?   
When Ray was busting through a window on a motor-cycle? When Fraser was   
getting his hat handed to him by Warfield's goons? "This is Dief, you   
_talk_ to the damn wolf, how reasonable is that?"

"What do you suggest? I can't very well go out and search for him, can I? I can   
barely _stand_ and let's not forget that I can't remember what day it is,   
most of the time," Fraser was all snappish now, hurting, and Ray felt like he was   
worrying at a wound but, hell, hope was better company than   
_reasonable_.

"Fine, fine," Ray had snapped back, surprising the hell out of himself. "I got legs.   
Tell me where to look."

So Ray was in Alert, looking for one deaf wolf in the Canadian wilderness.

Okay," he slapped his gloved hands together and peered around at the rutted   
street--yeah, this was a real metropolis--and the blank faces of the buildings.   
"What would a maybe-deaf, half-wolf with a donut fetish do if he got lost?"

His first stop was the RCMP headquarters--because there wasn't a Dunkin'   
Donuts in Canada--and Fraser's office. Maybe someone had seen something out   
there when they were looking at the crime scene, or maybe he'd see Lieutenant   
Bly and kick his ass for leaving Fraser out there without back-up. Ray had been   
saving some good ass kicking up just for him.

Ray found the local RCMP by the big red and white flag flying from the building;   
plus it looked like any cop shop anywhere in the world, old, heavy, kinda glaring   
out at the world with a suspicious face. It was pretty small but bigger than Ray   
expected. When he went inside and saw a bench full of beefy oil riggers he got   
why the place was bigger than it should be for a town the size of Alert. They   
must be near a pipeline; Ray thought of Fraser and his 'Thank You Kindly' versus   
a bar full of drunk riggers and winced, not sure who he was more sorry for.

He bellied up to the desk where some weedy looking kid was manhandling a   
computer. "Hey, I'm looking to speak to the NCOIC."

"Of course, sir, do you have an appointment?"

"Nah. I'm Ray Kowalski. I'm here to look for Diefenbaker?"

"The former Prime Minister? I wasn't aware the Prime Minister was visiting."

Jeeze, it was Turnbull's evil twin with a plastic name tag 'Const. Verity'. "No, no--  
the wolf. The wolf. I'm here for the wolf. Fraser's wolf."

"Ah," a look as blank as snow on a soft face that the Pillsbury Dough Boy would   
envy, then Ray watched the light bulb go on inside Verity's head, followed   
immediately by dismay. "Corporal Fraser's wolf. Wellthat is"

"He ever show?"

Ray didn't expect Verity to take him 'round back to just outside the garage where   
a dish of fresh water waited next to a plate ofdonuts. Untouched donuts.   
Even if Verity looked like he should still be in high school he had the same   
Mountie posture Ray had seen in every one of them, from Fraser to the Ice Queen   
as he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked awkwardly on his heels.

"There's been no sign of Diefenbaker, not even on baking day and, well, he   
_never_ missed that."

"Got you under his thumb too, huh?"

Verity flushed and his nervous tick was a quick tug at the sleeve of his blue   
uniform. "He's practically a member of the RCMPjust because he's a   
_wolf_ terribly handy."

"Oh, I got no stones to throw," Ray held up his hands with a smirk. "Wolf ate   
more pizza than I did, back in Chicago."

"Ah," then Verity's gaze sharpened. Was that hero worship Ray was seeing?   
"Ah? You were Corporal Fraser's Chicago partner?"

"Yeah," One of 'em anyway, but he left that out because Vecchio had always been   
Fraser's partner--never mind _who_ Vecchio had been. Ray's mouth   
soured. Ray _Kowalski_ had never been Fraser's partner, hell, according to   
the paperwork, Ray Kowalski hadn't met Fraser until Canada and Muldoon.   
According to paper, Kowalski and Fraser were some kind of weird fluke--  
according to Vecchio too. That fluke was the solidest thing in Ray's world; him   
and Fraser, two flukes against the world.

"sir, excuse me? Sir?"

"Call me Ray," Ray shook himself and smiled at the Mountie to let him know he   
was back from his head-trip. "Somebody take a look up by where--Fraser was   
found?"

"Well," Verity hesitated and Ray slung an arm over his shoulder, steering them   
both back to the warmth of the depot.

"Did Fraser tell ya that he was three kinds of hero, with that Muldoon thing?"   
Ray put out his best 'we're all buddies here' smile. Hey--you got any coffee?"

Ray spun out his story, from turtles to nuclear submarines and SWAT Mounties,   
giving Fraser the spotlight he deserved. By the time he was done, Ray had the   
oil riggers eating out his hand, as well as Verity. He gotten Verity to spill that   
the search team had taken a quick look around for Dief at the crime site, he'd   
gotten the address to Fraser's small RCMP house on the outskirts of town and   
found out that Bly was out--taking Fraser's patrol as well as his own.

"Sir--" Verity ducked his head and blushed. "Ray, how isCorporal Fraser?"

"Hanging in there," Ray scratched his neck and went on unwillingly at the real   
concern in Verity's face. Even the rigger's looked worried, Ray wondered how   
often Fraser had arrested them for littering. "Hanging on good, probably trying   
to convince them to let him get back to work already."

"Oh, soon I hope, sir--Ray."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

He had Fraser's keys; even though Fraser hadn't been able to remember his own   
address he'd had Maggie give Ray the keys and the location. So, Ray rented a   
jeep and took himself down rutted roads to a tiny pre-fab concrete cabin sitting   
in the middle of a bare patch of muddy ground. "Fuck, Fraser--" Ray stood there   
with his rucksack in hand and stared at the pathetic place. He'd seen bus stops   
that looked more inviting.

Inside wasn't any better--industrial beige paint, a single chair, a cot pushed close   
to the pre-fab fireplace, a nook for a stove, sink and small refrigerator. Ray   
dropped his bag next to the door and scrubbed at his cold face. He'd figured   
Fraser would be happy--he was _home_ \--Canada--and Ray went to bed   
every lonely night and woke up every morning hanging onto the thought that   
Fraser was happy. He needed Fraser to be happy because he sure as hell hadn't   
been but this wasn't happy. This was like getting punched in the gut. If Fraser   
wasnt happy and Ray wasn't, what the hell had they been doing?

Fraser's battered trunk, playing nightstand for the cot, was familiar and maybe   
the only thing that was _home_ in the whole place. Ray sat down on the   
cot and lit the lantern, setting it down carefully amid the litter of picture frames.   
Bright red caught his eye; Fraser and Vecchio. Another picture of Fraser, looking   
more than a little bewildered but game, with Vecchio kids hanging off him and   
the Vecchio home in the background. He was there too, pictures from the quest   
and some he didn't even know--one where he was sitting on the GTO some   
summer day, face tipped to the sun looking goofily pleased with himself. Ray   
brushed his fingers over the photos clustered together like a wall against the   
barren, empty room.

He threw out all the moldy food forgotten when Fraser had been hurt and made   
a dinner of oatmeal and pemmican, sitting in front of the fireplace where he'd   
brushed up his quest skills and set a roaring fire. It was a real blast from the   
past, except Fraser wasn't there to go on about Inuit or moose or what kind of   
new cold they'd discover tomorrow. Ray rolled himself up in his sleeping bag   
and made an early night, his back to the house that was not a home and the   
silence that was not quiet. Sometime, late, he stirred at the dreamy sound of a   
wolf whine, soft and faint.

Ray sat up abruptly, nylon squealing as he struggled with his sleeping bag. It   
was still dark out but that didn't mean it wasn't time to get up.

"Dief?" Ray yanked on yesterdays pants--or where they the day before's?--and   
the first of many shirts. He'd been dreaming of the wolf. Hearing him. He   
scratched at his rough chin. Dreaming? Or not?

"Okay," he said and the floor was _cold_ when he stepped out of the bag   
but he paced away, wishing for his music. "So, you're a lost wolf in the   
wilderness and you can't find your friends so, where ya gonna go?"

Home, he thought. Wherever home had been. Wherever the Mountie hung his   
hat, which was _here_. No donuts, no pizza but what you want most is   
your friend back. Ray could get behind that 'cause here he was, no pizza, no   
coffee but he wanted his friend too. "But you don't go into town--why not?"

Because you're hurt, Ray thought in dismay. Too hurt to go on. He pushed aside   
the thought that maybe you're too hurt to get home in the first place. That was   
the whole reasonable thing and he wasn't going there--not yet. No, he didn't   
want to go back to Fraser and be reasonable. "And you ain't got hands."

Ray yanked on a pair of boots and dug out a flashlight from his gear, then   
hurried outside, shrugging into a coat as he went. "Dief! _Dief!_ "

"Yelling for a deaf wolf," he muttered. "That's rich, Kowalski, rich."

The snow had melted over the past day and refrozen into sharp ridges and tricky   
gullies that had Ray flailing around, flashlight waving in his hand like he was   
trying to signal aliens. The violet sky wasn't cloudy and the sun might even be   
making an appearance today, if Ray remembered his Northwest Area skies right.   
It was butt-ass cold, especially when you were kneeling in the snow and flashing   
the light under the wooden stoop to see if some wolf had crawled under there to   
keep warm. Melting snow soaked his jeans and Ray could hear Fraser's lecture   
in the back of his mind--wet clothes and hypothermia, dead caribou and all.   
"Dief? You in here?"

The ground underneath the stoop was bare and dry, no wolf recuperating in the   
corner but Ray was on a roll and cold ass weather was sorta like coffee--well, he   
was awake anyway. He started searching around the entire house. Piece of crap   
place, there were breaks in the foundation. Ray realized some were big enough   
for a wolf, and impulsively he went crawling in--with some wrestling and a big   
rip on the back of his parka--himself.

All there was under the house was dry dirt and the stripe of his flashlight in the   
dark. The base of the chimney blocked off a big chunk of the house and Ray was   
crawling around before he realized the shallow divot under his nose was a   
pawprint.

"Yo, Dief!" He belly crawled around the chimney and there, pressed up against   
the faintly warmed bricks, was a dirty bundle that looked more like someone   
had thrown away an old gray blanket than a half-wolf. "Dief--shit, _Dief_ ,"   
Ray scrambled up to him, banging his head on a strut, and put a shaking hand   
on the wolf's bony head. The wolf had been two feet under him all night.

"Oh, god, oh, god," Ray patted his hands over the wolf, feeling harsh fur and   
jutting bone. So thin, so weak. Ray wondered if Fraser had looked like this   
when the patrol had stumbled on him, dying in the snow. He gripped the   
muzzle gently and turned Dief's face to his. The wolf's eyes were rheumy and   
deeply sunken, his ears barely pricked at the sight of Ray. "S'gonna be okay,   
Dief. Gonna be okay," Ray heard the same faint whine that had disturbed his   
dreams last night and Dief's tail thumped weakly in the dust.

"Right, okay--" Ray scrambled towards the dim opening on his belly, wishing   
Fraser were here. He'd know what to do, what was wrong, how to fix it. "Vet,   
we gotta get to a vet." He didn't even know if there was a vet in Alert.

Dief couldn't walk and Ray had to drag him out from under the house on a   
blanket. He made him drink warm water but Dief turned his nose away from   
any food. It wasn't any trouble to carry Dief to the jeep, he didn't weigh hardly   
anything.

"C'mon, c'mon!" Ray hammered on the steering wheel, cranking the heat up and   
the wheel around to race back to Alert. This was wanting, this sick fear in his   
mouth. This was wanting.

* * *

The thin wire coils bit into Fraser's hand as he gripped the notebook in his lap.   
Yesterday's notes were there in his shaky hand; he read them over, all that was   
left of a day forgotten behind the dark wall of sleep.

_*Dief is alive, injured. Ray found him--because I wanted him to. He didn't_  
give up.  
*Ray says Verity is concerned for my health. I should send him a note.  
*Tomorrow I'm to be released--of course, there's still PT and recovery. Ray   
found us a place to live.  
*My PT therapists are Joseph, Rene (she's getting married next week) and   
Marianne. My neurologist is Dougie Rawls.  
*Still no sign of the poachers. I need to remember. I have to remember.  
*I still can't remember anything reliably.  
*Don't forget the change of clothing in the cabinet across from the bed. 

Fraser flipped the notebook--a picture of the Canadian flag on the cover--shut   
with a snap. His father's journals had been full of his inner life, given Fraser a   
chance to know the man he'd never really seen while he was alive. His journals   
were nothing more than a laundry list of chores and reminders. He got up, still   
feeling distressingly shaky and went over to get the forgotten clothing out of the   
cabinet across from his bed and pack them into the nylon dufflebag that had   
made an appearance this morning. Ray must have brought it, Fraser assumed   
so. He couldn't remember where it had come from.

Once everything was packed. Fraser wrote down that he'd packed everything   
from the hospital so that tomorrow, he wouldn't ask Ray if there was anything   
missing. The notebook was already half full, Fraser paged back through the lists   
of questions, the mentions of events he couldn't remember experiencing. There   
were the notes from the neurologist; there was a flaw in the transfer between   
short term and long term memory. The next six months would be the critical   
ones, if he didn't get better by then, it was unlikely he'd recover at all. According   
to his notes, only one month had passed, so far.

He slipped the pen into the wire coil and sat in the wheelchair with his eyes   
closed. He would need more notebooks. Fraser opened his eyes and added that   
to the list.

**TBC 012905**

  
 

* * *

End Long Journey Home 8 by XTricks 

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